Tuesday, May 27, 2025

Seek the Truth, Not to Win! (6th Sunday of Easter, Year C)

 To listen to this homily, click here.

During the Easter season, the Church invites us again and again to recall the life of the early Christian community. Not because that time was perfect or without controversy; in fact we see the opposite is true. But because it has so much to teach us. Today, in our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we drop in on a moment of real conflict—an intense dispute that could have split the early Church, which was still in its first stages.

    Sometimes we imagine the early Church as the golden age—those “good old days” when everyone lived in perfect unity, faith was fully alive, miracles were common, and everyone gave up everything to follow Christ. And yes, those days were full of the Spirit: healings, conversions by the thousands, radical generosity. But they were also filled with tension, disagreement, pride, and confusion. The early Christians were gifted, but they were also human—just like us.

    The reading today describes a debate that may seem trivial to us now—things like Jewish cultural practices and dietary laws—but these were deeply important questions in their time. Most early Christians were Jewish. For them, to follow Jesus and keep the Mosaic law felt natural and necessary. But then Gentiles started coming to believe in Jesus. They didn’t follow the Law of Moses. They didn’t eat kosher. They didn’t live a Jewish lifestyle. What were they to do? Should they be required to follow the Law in order to be fully Christian?

    Paul and Barnabas had a clear conviction: no! While Jesus had fulfilled the Law and the Prophets, his Church was also something new, something more that the old practice of Jewish customs. But here’s the critical part—even though they were certain they were right, they didn’t try to solve this question alone. They went to Jerusalem to consult the apostles and elders, including St. Peter. They didn’t bypass the authority that Christ had set up in the Church. They sought the truth, but they did it humbly, through the leadership established by Christ.

    This is such an important lesson for us today. We live in an age of strong opinions, hot takes, instant reactions, and do-it-yourself religion. Disagreements can quickly turn into divisions and condemnations. The desire to be right can quickly turn into a campaign to destroy the other side. Even within the Church, we sometimes see conflict about doctrine, discipline, liturgy, and the moral teachings of our faith.

    But what Paul and Barnabas show us is that seeking the truth is not the same as pushing our own agenda or seeking to be victorious over others. They trusted that the Holy Spirit was working not just through them as missionaries, but through the structure Christ gave us—through Peter and the other apostles which we know as the Magisterium.

    And the apostles, in turn, listened carefully. They discerned together. They prayed. And they gave a decision that preserved the unity of the Church while respecting the truth as it had been brought up by Paul and Barnabas. They didn’t lay heavy burdens on the Gentiles or demand that they become Jewish. But they also asked them to give up certain cultural practices—not because they were sinful, but because they might scandalize their Jewish brothers and sisters. It was a beautiful act of pastoral sensitivity.

    There’s a powerful message in that: just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. We live in a time where personal rights and freedoms are exalted above all else. But the Christian life calls us to something higher than our rights: it calls us to charity, humility, and unity.

    So what does this mean for us today?

    First: we must desire that God be praised above all else. That was the unifying goal for Peter, Paul, Barnabas, and all the early Christians. “O God, let all the nations praise you!” was not just the psalm today—it was their mission. Is it ours? Do we care more about winning arguments or winning souls? Do we want to be right—or do we want to help others praise God by removing as many obstacles to unity and truth as possible?

    Second: we must seek the truth with humility and obedience. That means reading the Scriptures, yes—but also reading them within the living tradition and teaching of the Church. It means learning, listening, asking questions, and sometimes letting go of our own ideas and preferences to embrace something deeper. It means trusting that the Holy Spirit continues to guide the Church, especially through those given the authority to teach, sanctify, and govern.

This doesn’t mean we never struggle or ask hard questions. But it does mean that when we have disagreements or doubts, we bring them to prayer and seek resolution with a spirit of trust—not rebellion.

    Finally: we must be willing to sacrifice for the good of others. That’s what the early Christians did when they gave up practices that were normal for them. Not because they had to—but because they loved their brothers and sisters enough to do it. Can we do the same? Can we give up harsh words, political posturing, or divisive behaviors—even if we feel justified—in order to build up the Body of Christ? Are we willing to come out of our comfort zones and established routines if it might make it easier for someone else to accept the saving teachings of the gospel?

    May we, like Paul and Barnabas, like Peter and the apostles, be people who seek truth above ego, unity above pride, and the praise of God above all else.


Tuesday, May 20, 2025

No Pain, No Gain, No Shortcuts (5th Sunday of Easter, Year C)

To listen to this homily, click here.

Friends, today’s readings are all about new things:
A New Jerusalem, a new heaven and a new earth, and a new commandment.

In the reading from the Book of Revelation, God declares: “See, I am making all things new.”
This is not just about some distant future. God’s saving and healing work in the world is ongoing—right now, right here, in you and in me. The reading from the Acts of the Apostles shows how the early Christian communities supported this work of renewal through their agápe love—imitating the sacrificial love of Paul and Barnabas. And the Gospel gives us the heart of Christian renewal: “Love one another as I have loved you.”

So if God is making all things new—how does that happen? What does that renewal look like in real life? While the particulars might look a little different for each person here in church, two truths remain constant for all of us.

The first is that something new requires enduring hardship.

Most of us have experienced some sort of major remodeling project like a new kitchen or bathroom. It always starts with big dreams and a starry-eyed vision of open spaces, new countertops, a more functional layout, and premium fixtures. But almost immediately, reality sets in. For weeks, the kitchen or bathroom is torn apart. No sink. No stove. Dust everywhere. Meals on folding chairs in the living room. Many people sharing the same bathroom and waiting for the shower. It is inconvenient, uncomfortable, and always more expensive than expected. There are often delays, mistakes, and days of wondering: “Is this really worth it?”

But in the end, when the work was finished and everything comes together—the new kitchen  or bathroom is more beautiful and functional than we imagined. In fact, after awhile, we usually forget all the headaches and misery because in the end, it was worth it.

That’s what God’s renewal is like.

We love the idea of “something new”—a fresh start, a deeper faith, a better version of ourselves. But we often forget that true renewal costs something. Just like that home remodel, it requires sacrifice, patience, and a willingness to live in the mess for a while.

In today’s first reading, Paul and Barnabas encourage the disciples with these words:
“It is necessary for us to undergo many hardships to enter the kingdom of God.”

Not optional—necessary.
Why? Because resurrection doesn’t bypass the cross.
Healing doesn’t come without surrender.
Growth doesn’t happen without discomfort.

If you feel like your life is under construction right now—if you’re tired, uncertain, or stretched—it might just be that God is building something new in you.

Now, let me tell you another story that reminds us about the 2nd truth: there are no shortcuts to the Resurrection.

I used to open the Waze app when I drove, especially around rush hour. It’s designed to help you avoid traffic and find the most efficient route. One day, I followed its directions faithfully, only to find myself on a narrow side street, along with a dozen other cars who were all following the same “shortcut.” The street wasn’t made for that many cars and so, instead of saving time, we all ended up stuck, frustrated and delayed.

That’s what spiritual shortcuts are like.

We want the joy of Easter, but not the sacrifice of Lent.
We want peace, but not the hard conversations.
We want to grow, but not to wait or endure.
And so we look for ways around the hard stuff.

But there are no side streets to salvation.

Jesus doesn’t say, “Follow me and I’ll get you there faster.” He says, “Take up your cross and follow me.” Because the only road that leads to resurrection is the road He walked—through sacrifice, love, and obedience.

We live in a culture that loves shortcuts. We want faster results, instant fixes, and guaranteed outcomes. But in the spiritual life, shortcuts often lead us away from the goal.

There is no shortcut to patience, or forgiveness, or maturity. There is no shortcut to loving someone when it’s hard. There is no shortcut to living as a disciple of Jesus. And whether we like it or not, the words of Paul and Barnabas are still true:“It is necessary for us to undergo many hardships to enter the kingdom of God.”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us the “new commandment”: “Love one another as I have loved you.” Not love as we feel like, but love as He has shown—patient, enduring, merciful.
That kind of love doesn’t come from shortcuts. It comes from walking the long road with Jesus and with each other.

So if you feel like your life is a construction zone, or if you’re tempted to find a quicker way around the challenges you face, remember this:God is still working. God is still building. God is still saying: “Behold, I am making all things new.” And when God works, it will not be easy. Or instant. But always new.


May we have the courage to endure the mess, and the wisdom to avoid the shortcuts.
Because what God is creating in us is worth it. And what he builds will last and be so wonderful that we will soon forget the hardship and sacrifice. Let’s give God permission to get to work in our lives, our families, and our parish!

Sunday, May 4, 2025

Christendom or Apostolic Age? (3rd Sunday of Easter)

 To listen to this homily, click here.

One of the treats we get to enjoy every year in our 50-day easter celebration is hearing some of the stories of life in the early Church. There were some incredible things going on and lots of Holy Spirit moments! For example: there were huge numbers of conversions happening at once (3000 here, 5000 there), as well as impressive healings and evil spirits being cast out. There was a genuine concern among Christians for each other, especially the poor, as many sold all they had and donated it to a common fund so all would have enough for their daily needs. All in all, impressive stuff and an exciting chapter in the life of Christianity. 


A mistake we could make however, would be to romanticize the early Church as some sort of Christian utopia. It’s easy to forget how messy this first era really was. For example, there was the early obstacle of the apostles’ doubt and disbelief of the resurrection as well as their fear of being arrested. There was confusion about who could be a Christian, did they have to practice Judaism as well, did the Jewish dietary laws still apply, was Jesus both God and Man and a serious disagreement between Peter and Paul. Not to mention that professing Christianity remained illegal and highly dangerous, even deadly, for the next 300 years! 


For sure, the early church was alive but nowhere near perfect. Some of the things that threatened this baby church are non-issues for us while other things they took for granted are issues we have to grapple with and solve in our time. There has never been and never will be a perfect age of Christianity. Each generation of believers will experience new manifestations of the Holy Spirit and different challenges to unity and truth. God is just as present to those who believe in 2019 as he was in the weeks and months following the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Perhaps nowadays we struggle to believe that God still wants to use us as healers, preachers


The Church is always between two points in her history. Both have strengths and weakness; neither is better than the other but is a result of factors in society at any given time and also whats going on in the Church. 


The early Church was in what we call “apostolic mode”. That mode is defined by a church that is small, disruptive, and dealing with persecution while being a minority population in the culture where it exists. The danger of apostolic mode is that following Christ is risky and many many people choose not to because of the threat of imprisonment, being ostracized by friends and family, or losing everything in terms of home, livelihood, etc…


As the centuries wore on, the Church shifted to the other side of what we might call “Christendom mode” where it was one of, if not the, dominant forces shaping culture, law, and society. This mode is defined by Christianity being largely accepted and practiced in the areas in this era and the Church is represented by institutions like hospitals, schools, and other visible outreach.  The danger of “Christendom mode is complacency. It is no longer much of a choice to follow the basics of Christ and it can be easy to coast along, with little to no fervor or effort. Oftentimes in this era, you see large numbers of people who profess Christ but are essentially “Christian in name only” and over time, when difficulty presents itself or another belief system or philosophy presents itself, many fall away.


For you and me, we are sort of caught in the middle of the two modes. Until the middle of last century, Catholicism was in full Christendom mode. Over the last 50-60 years there has been a slow but definite decline of Christianity in our nation. Even as Americans have gotten more prosperous and even though Catholicism is woven into so many parts of our life (think catholic schools, hospitals, St. Patty’s day, etc…) overall belief and you might even say fervor has gone down. 


Is this good or bad? I think it depends on how we look at it. If we have a sense of history, we will keep a healthy perspective. This ebb and flow has been a part of our faith from the very beginning. So real challenges are headed our way. Maybe even persecution and the loss of certain liberties and things we currently enjoy. We are already seeing the end of certain institutions that seemed eternal with the closing of parishes and schools that were once bursting at the seams. But with those challenges come opportunities. Now there is a chance to look at the ways we practice our faith and more easily identify the ministries and priorities that best proclaim the gospel. As some see decline, we can see a chance for renewal, conversion, and a return to the essentials of our faith. In the age of christendom, perhaps we have become a little complacent and attached to things that are good but not best.


Our first reading today helps us by showing what is needed in a time where the church, where our faith is increasingly persecuted, marginalized, ignored. The apostles are not discouraged by these difficulties, even when they are explicitly told to stop talking about Jesus, they do not, they cannot. Because in their bones, they know the truth of the gospel. It's such a part of them that they have to share it for their salvation, but also out of love for others. Can we say the same about our faith right now as I look inward at myself, I have to admit that sometimes I'm afraid of what others might think if I was that committed to the gospel. Or at least, sometimes, even though I absolutely believe Faith in Jesus is right for me, might, I sometimes lack the conviction to offer it to others? Even though the times have changed, that's the truth of Jesus has not we are all still saved in his name, and by his sacrifice.


As our church, and our culture moves into an apostolic age, a time where Christians will be ignored, marginalized, and even persecuted, you and I have the honor and the responsibility to proclaim the gospel fearlessly, confidently, constantly. I never cease to be amazed by the last part of the first reading, where the disciples, rejoice and consider it a privilege to suffer for the sake of Jesus. My prayer today, for you, and for me, is that we would have that same, unshakable, faith and desire to share the good news, and that we would consider it an honor to represent the Lord whether we are praised or persecuted. The only way to renew our culture and our church is to move forward with this holy boldness and courage. May God give it to us now and every day until we meet him face-to-face!


One of the gifts we receive each year during the 50-day celebration of Easter is the chance to hear stories from the life of the early Church. These were incredible, Spirit-filled times! Thousands of conversions happened in a single day—3,000 here, 5,000 there. The apostles were healing the sick, casting out demons, and preaching boldly. There was a deep sense of community among believers: many sold their possessions to care for the poor and ensure everyone had what they needed. These were exciting days—powerful, miraculous, and deeply communal.

But we shouldn't romanticize the early Church as some kind of Christian utopia. The reality was often messy. The apostles themselves doubted the resurrection at first. They hid in fear, afraid of arrest. Early Christians struggled with major questions: Who could be baptized? Did Gentile believers need to follow Jewish laws? Was Jesus truly both God and man? Even Peter and Paul had serious disagreements. And let’s not forget—Christianity was illegal, dangerous, and at times deadly for the first 300 years.

So yes, the early Church was alive—but not perfect. Some of the struggles they faced have faded; others have taken new forms. The truth is, there has never been, and never will be, a “perfect” age of the Church. Every generation of Christians will experience both new outpourings of the Holy Spirit and new challenges to faith, truth, and unity. But the good news is this: God is just as present to His Church now as He was in those first weeks and months after the resurrection.

Historically, the Church has moved between two general modes: apostolic mode and Christendom mode.

The early Church was in apostolic mode: small, on the margins, under pressure. Christians were a minority, facing persecution and social rejection. Following Christ was risky. Many lost their livelihoods, families, and even their lives. But in that vulnerability, faith was strong and fervent.

Eventually, as centuries passed, the Church shifted into Christendom mode—where Christianity became embedded in law, culture, and society. The Church became a central institution, shaping everything from education to healthcare. In many ways, this allowed the gospel to flourish publicly. But the danger of Christendom mode is complacency. When being a Christian becomes the norm, it’s easy to go through the motions without passion or commitment. People become “Christian in name only,” and when challenges arise or new ideologies take root, many fall away.

You and I are living in a moment of transition. For much of the 20th century, especially in countries like ours, Catholicism existed in full Christendom mode. Our institutions were strong: packed churches, booming schools, full seminaries. Catholic identity was culturally reinforced—think of Catholic hospitals, universities, and celebrations like St. Patrick’s Day. But in the last 50–60 years, we’ve seen a gradual but definite shift. Cultural Christianity is declining. Mass attendance is dropping. Parishes and schools are closing.

Is this good or bad? It depends on how we see it.

If we have a sense of history, we’ll recognize this ebb and flow as part of the Church’s story. Every decline carries seeds of renewal. Every challenge holds opportunities for deeper faith. As we move into a more apostolic age—a time when the Church is no longer dominant in culture—we’re being invited to return to the essentials. To rekindle the fire. To proclaim the gospel not because it’s expected, but because it’s true.

Our first reading today reminds us what apostolic boldness looks like. The apostles are warned, threatened, and told to stop preaching in Jesus’ name. But they refuse. They can’t stop. The truth of the resurrection burns in their bones. They’ve encountered the living Christ, and now their lives are dedicated to proclaiming that truth—no matter the cost.

Can we say the same?

I’ll be honest: sometimes I hesitate. Sometimes I worry about what others will think if I speak openly about my faith. I believe in Jesus—deeply—but I don’t always have the courage to offer that faith to others. I’m guessing I’m not alone in that.

But the truth hasn’t changed. Jesus Christ is still Lord. His gospel still saves. And He still sends His Church to proclaim that truth with love and courage.

As we enter more fully into this new apostolic age—an age marked by indifference, resistance, and sometimes even hostility—you and I are called to be missionary disciples. We have the honor and responsibility to proclaim the gospel: fearlessly, confidently, constantly.

What moves me most in today’s reading is the apostles’ reaction to suffering. They rejoiced to be found worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of Jesus. That’s not weakness—it’s strength. It’s faith. It’s freedom.

So my prayer for all of us today is this: that we would receive that same boldness. That we would treasure our faith enough to live it fully, share it joyfully, and defend it humbly—even when it costs us something. 

May God give us the courage of the apostles, the faith of the martyrs, and the fire of the early Church, so that we may renew our culture and our Church—not by going backward, but by going deeper..